


Cold Hands

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diamonds Droog was a cold man, a distant man, and a severe man, but he was not inflexible. Adopting Aradia changed him. She was the point of motion in his life, the whirling wind of joy. They were happy together. Happy.<br/>He supposes that's why her death hit him as hard as it did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of Wachtelspinat's picture (http://wachtelspinat.tumblr.com/post/9136608517/and-done-for-today-with-the-spammin) and luckyspike's musings on it (http://luckyspike.tumblr.com/post/9151931856/wachtelspinat-and-done-for-today-with-the). Spike wrote her own fic around the concept (http://luckyspike.tumblr.com/post/9180400395/i-dont-typically-write-sadfic) so go read that.

When you adopted Aradia, it was sort of a necessity. You're still not sure why her. She was calm. She was waiting for you. And then as soon as you decided on her, it felt like she erupted into your life like a flurry of wind. She upset your papers, spilled your tea, wrinkled your jackets and brought "pets" home.

The rest of the Crew suspects you abuse her, because she is so sedate in your presence and so wild away from it, but they couldn't be more wrong. You aren't inflexible. When your little ram-headed girl came into your life, you were the one who changed. Certainly, you outfitted her with your colours and you taught her to play saxophone, alto to your tenor. She pours over the paper in the morning and drinks tea, jasmine pearl, second infusion. In many ways she is like a tiny you, compact and classy. But you changed more, because Aradia's enthusiasm was infectious, and you caught it. She's calm and collected in your presence because she knows what you love, and even if she isn't that naturally, she wants to make you proud. And she does. If she was any other girl you'd be spoiling her, but because she is perfect, your little girl, she doesn't let you.

For the first time in your life, you find yourself in love, and for the first time, it is not an ugly thing. You are happy together. Happy.

You suppose that's why her death hits you as hard as it does.


	2. Chapter 2

You had breakfast together. She had cereal and orange juice and you had tea and toast. You read your paper. Why didn't you chat, why didn't you ask her what she was doing that day? But you didn't. You drove her to school and you told her to go straight home because you had business to attend to. You kissed her coolly on the forehead and squeezed her hand. It was warm and small in yours. You are always cold. Then you went about your day and by the time you went over the racket paperwork and the banking, it was well past six, and you went home. But there wasn't any home left.

It was just a hole.

You're not Slick, you don't have apartments all over town. You had the one, and it was beautiful. You filled it with art and modern furniture and stocked it with tea and cabernet. Aradia painted her room herself, three maroon walls and one enormous mural, a map sprawling in concentric circles. You approved the map. There is a class to maps, and unlike all other eight-year-olds, Aradia was meticulous in her measurements.

Your home was gone, scoured from the ground; a crater. You walked slowly to it, world draining of sound and colour, and you stood there on the edge. Around you, the Midnight Crew flew into action. Slick said something and Deuce went running, then Slick and Boxcars leapt into the ruins. They searched frantically for ten minutes, perhaps. Your perfect judgement of time lapsed in that moment, and you can't remember how long it was. Your eyes didn't search the crater. You knew as soon as you saw it.

Aradia was inside. She was a good girl. You told her to go home, so she went home.

You didn't realize you were in shock until Boxcars tried to move you, and your limbs were sluggish and unresponsive. They pulled you away, they pulled you back from the edge, and you just stared at the hole and the few feet of maroon wall left, pale and beaten and covered in dust.

You come to briefly and recognize Slick's trappings around you, everything plain, black, serviceable. You have a blanket around you and you are curled in a ball on a plain and serviceable black couch with a plain and serviceable black coffee table in front of you. You don't bother to move until you hear the door, and then you prop yourself up on one arm and wait.

Slick kicks the door closed and puts a bag down on the table. He's still covered in dirt and drywall powder and his eyes are very dark. He throws his hat and jacket to the side and pulls a chair across the table from you. He strips a pair of bottles out of the bag, cracks one open, and passes it to you.

"Drink," he says bleakly. The both of you do, and oblivion can't come quickly enough.


End file.
